


Iron and Ice

by topcheddar (in_mediocrity_res)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fae & Fairies, M/M, Magical Realism, Magical Realism (sort of), Profanity, Pucking Rare Challenge 2018, Sidhe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:36:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_mediocrity_res/pseuds/topcheddar
Summary: Connor tries to follow the family rules and fails miserably. Over and over and over again.Or, Connor's 2013-2014 season is full of surprises.





	1. Abide by the Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [forwardpass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwardpass/pseuds/forwardpass) in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Magical realism
> 
> I tried, I really did. I wanted to stretch my writer wings and figured Magical Realism and soft hockey bros would play nice (they didn't). Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Shoutout to [DizzyRedHead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead) and doublehockeysticks for reading random chapters/sections and telling me they made sense and weren't terrible. I definitely wouldn't have finished without you!
> 
> Please feel free to point out mistakes and errors! They're all mine and I'd quite like to fix them :)
> 
>  
> 
> 7-July-2018 Update: Sorry if any of you read/kudo'd this the first time it went up; I was on the struggle train to nowhere trying to get the right collection and have the claim/prompt fill show, so I ended up deleting and reposting today to fix everything.

The world is not quite as human as it seems. Connor’s family knows this, in every generation of his mother’s line there is a child born with pale green eyes that see all too well the world as it is, rather than as it is believed to be. Or you know, so the family lore goes. Connor didn’t really believe it until he asked his mom why one of their neighbors shimmered like his holographic hockey cards. His dad likes to say he was born lucky. Every time he says it, Connor knows he’s only talking about hockey.

Off the ice Connor could be, at best, described as clumsy. He doesn’t necessarily want to be thought of as uncoordinated; however, it’s an illusion Connor has worked very hard to maintain. Being considered awkward is extremely convenient when he sees something humans shouldn’t, when his eyes unintentionally focus on a flaw between the mortal and, well, other. Where other children grew up with the Brothers Grimm, Aesop’s Fables, Chronicles of Narnia, and other tales, Connor's bedtime stories were pulled from family journals and contained few moral lessons and far more practical advice:

  1. Let your gaze slide away – don’t look away too sharply.
  2. Act naturally – only create a distraction if necessary.
  3. Never give them your name or your word.
  4. Always carry iron.
  5. Never fall in love with a fae. Like magpies, they keep what catches their attention, which may include you, but don’t mistake their regard for attachment. The fae do not feel as humans do.



Connor is good at following rules. Mostly. Somedays. Really he relies almost entirely upon luck and the fact that the Sidhe don't generally pay him any mind. Unfortunately, Connor's luck is about to run out.


	2. A Sidhe Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor McDavid and the Erie Otters have quite the surprising season. Well, they have a season.

**October 25, 2013 – Erie Otters @ London Knights**

There is a fae on the Knights. Connor is going to have to compete against a fae. He thought hockey was safe, thought this was the one place he didn’t need to keep his guard up. (Connor thought he was safe. Connor thinks the fae is gorgeous.)

Blue eyes become electric whenever Connor blinks. “Yo – Davo, what’s up with you? You’re looking a little paler than your usual.” Stromer gently hug checks him into the boards. Connor sags into him for a second, grateful for having found a friend like Dylan.

“Nothing. Just nervous I guess. Hey Dyls, who’s the guy at the blue line, jersey 93?”

Dylan’s face freezes in an exaggerated rictus of disgust. “Fucking Marner.”

Connor tenses, “Marner like your arch nemesis Marner? Like the guy you’ve been whining about ever since before I met you?”

“Yeah. Mitchell fucking Marner. He’s an asshole who’s always pranking people and never takes anything seriously. Watch out for him Davo.”  

Selfishly, Connor can’t help but be glad the fae is Marner. Dylan is a genuinely nice guy outside of the rink, but Marner and Dyls are enemies, which means Connor doesn’t have to worry about his best friend falling prey to fae tricks.

Shaking himself out of such thoughts, Connor nudges Dylan, “Hey, bet I score before you.” 

Neither of them end up scoring, but Connor picks up two assists to Dylan’s one and the Otters beat the Knights 5-1.

 

Marn- The fae is waiting for Dylan and Connor after the game. He pushes off the wall outside the visitor locker room and strolls towards them, stopping a foot or so away. This close, Connor can see the points of his ears, dark brown hair deepening with amethyst undertones, lightly tanned skin and acne giving way to unblemished pale marble. Marner’s human facade is pretty; his fae features, simply stunning.

“Strome. Nice to see that you’ve finally learned how to skate.”

“Were you even on the ice tonight Marner? I didn’t see your name attached to anything but a minus rating.”

“Meow - the kitten’s got claws. Put those away before you hurt yourself. You must be the infamous Connor McDavid, it’s good to meet you.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Fuck. Gold star to you - you didn’t give him your name but you just insulted a fae. An especially handsome one. No. Bad Connor. You are better than this. Your media training is extensive - you can be polite, give away no information, and NOT INSULT THE FAE.

“I guess Strome got to you first, not such a surprise there. I’ll see you boys around, better watch yourselves next game.”

 

**November 3, 2013 – Erie Otters @ London Knights**

London beats them 6-2. Dylan picks up a -1. Marner’s only contribution is a tripping penalty at the end of the 3rd.

Every time Connor looks up, Marner is staring.

 

**November 22, 2013 – Erie Otters @ London Knights**

Why do they keep losing to this team of all teams. Why. Connor wants to break his stick. Wants to punch Marns in his stupid fucking pretty fae face. Wants to ask if his talent is magicked luck instead of hard earned skill. Wants to ask why he keeps on staring.

Goddamnit. A 4-1 loss and all Connor managed to do was be on the ice for a goal against and limit Dyls's penalties to just one. Meanwhile, Marner left the ice with two beautiful assists. God. Just fuck him.

 

**December 13, 2013 - London Knights @ Erie Otters**

From the press box, Connor watches Marner and Stromer pick up assists. Watches Marns glance around the stands when play is stopped. Watches him skate over to Dyls and say something. Watches as Browner and Foxy beat Patterson, as Williams stonewalls the Knights shooters to get the win. Shakes his head to clear the thought that lingers.

The Knights should’ve put Marns in.

 

**Dec. 26, 2013 to Jan. 5, 2014 - IIHF World Junior Championship @ Malmö, Sweden**

Connor is absolutely ecstatic that Dyls is competing in the U17 World Hockey Challenge. He’s overjoyed that Dylan is playing for Team Ontario, even if that means playing with Marner. Yeah, Connor is completely, 100% fine. 100%. Never been more okay with anything in his life. Dyls and Marner will be cordial for the good of the team and remain go back to being lifelong enemies after January 4th. They probably won’t even play on the same lines. Dyls is safe. (Dyls is his. Mitch Marner doesn’t get to have him.)

That certainty is why Connor is blindsided on New Year’s Day during Team Ontario’s game against Russia. Why he seethes with each play Dyls sets up, each goal Marner scores. Why he scowls a little deeper with each celly. He can practically see the animosity fading shift by shift. The goal horn in the dying minutes of the 3rd signals the completion of Mitch’s hat trick, an opportunity for Ontario to win in OT, and the solidification of a fledgling friendship.

 

On January 5th, Team Canada loses to Russia in the bronze medal game at World Juniors.

On January 5th, Connor opens a snapchat from Dylan. There’s an entire series of snaps of him and Marner. One of them curled up next to each other in airport chairs faces filtered to puppy dogs captioned “Sorry Davo <3 - we love you!” Another is a video switching between Dyls unimpressed face and Marn’s beautific expression as he inhales what looks like a cup of whipped cream. The most damning is the final snap. Mitch’s head creating a home in the hollow of Dylan’s collarbone, eyelashes kissing his cheeks, ethereal in his sleeping human guise. He reflexively screencaps them all.

Connor doesn’t know which hurts more: coming so close to a medal or the snaps. (That’s a lie. The loss is disappointment; the snap story, betrayal.)

 

**January 13, 2014 - Connor’s Birthday**

The Otters are at home, which means the team throws a house party. A large house party, which is admittedly awesome and makes Connor flush pink with pleasure, but a large party means it’s hard to find Dyls. Connor needs to find Dyls, needs to give him a best-friend birthday adjacent gift. Stumbling towards the kitchen, Dylan appears at his elbow, “Davo! How’s it going?”

Connor mashes his face into Dylan’s neck, “M’good. Have something for you.” One of Connor’s flailing hands eventually finds Dylan’s and slips a iron bracelet onto his wrist. Still holding Dylan’s hand, Connor squeezes, “Best friend bracelet. I’ve got one too. Keeps us safe.”

 

**February 8, 2014 - London Knights @ Erie Otters**

Being on the, uh, other side of social media stalking is a bit new to Connor, but he’s a proud, technology savvy millennial who definitely has not been spending most of his free hours for the last month scouring the internet for every pixelated photo and crappy soundbite of Mitchell Marner. He’s especially not looking specifically for combinations of Mitch Marner and Dylan Strome. (He’s not obsessed, just concerned. Mildly concerned. For his friend’s safety. And the safety of everyone faced with Mitch’s enchanting smile. Bad Connor. No.)

No. Dylan was _his_ first. Marns was just a tournament friend replacement who overstayed their welcome, no matter that Dyls has texted him at least once per day. (Dylan gives zero fucks about communicating with people he doesn’t care about, but he’ll go to extreme lengths to maintain relationships he thinks are important. Connor’s stomach churns at the thought. He has to do something.)

Marner tentatively smiles at him whenever they lock eyes; Connor gifts him a rapidly dropping plus/minus in return. Connor isn’t saying he tried to ensure each of the 5 goals he assisted on occurred during Marner’s ice time, but he isn’t denying it either.

The Otters crush the Knights 7-2. Connor leaves the ice viciously satisfied. He’s proved his superiority. If Marns’s defeated posture and quivering lips needle at his conscience, it’s fine right? Marner is a fae after all, Connor is just…trying to keep his best friend.

 

Dylan ditches out on their traditionally post home game diner trip to “meet up with Mitchy. It was a rough night for him.” Sitting alone in their diner booth, Connor isn’t sure if his jealousy is born from Marns having Dyls or Dyls having Marns. It’s fine, he’s fine. Everything is under control. Connor is just experiencing a minor emotional setback, an involuntary hormonal response to Mitchell Marner - fae, human, whatever. It’s not a problem.

When Dylan comes back, he’s not wearing the bracelet.

 

**February 26, 2014 - London Knights @ Erie Otters**

Ok, Connor might have problems. Two very large, very insistent problems. Problem one: given all his stalking of Mitch, Connor is reasonably certain he’s not going to run off to the Sidhe courts without Dylan’s express consent; however, Dylan doesn’t know to be wary and might give consent without knowing to what precisely he’s agreeing.  Problem two: Connor might be a smidgeon attracted to Mitch. (Lie. Maybe if smidgeon means massively. Connor has sneakily done more bedsheet laundry loads in the three weeks than he has in the last year.)

‘No more of this try to keep Dyls away from Marns deal. New plan.’ Connor nods firmly to himself during warmups. ‘I am going to be mature and cordial and  - why does he keep looking over and smiling at me? I was such an asshole last game. Wait, what is he so focused on…’

Mitch’s gentle smile fades into utter blankness, eyes locked on Connor’s slightly bared wrist. Looking down at his hands, Connor sees iron. His stick creaks in his grip. ‘What if Marns knows?’ Mitch meets his terror filled expression and grins, a manic, inhuman thing. He definitely knows.

Otters lose 5-3. Connor is shaken, effectively useless on the ice. (Useless off it too.)

 

**March 7, 2014 – Windsor Spitfires @ Erie Otters**

They light it up. Dylan scores two goals; Connor scores Dylan two goals and gathers two more assists. A decisive 6-1 win is possibly the best birthday present Connor could help give Dylan. (Dylan opens his other present that night. It’s another iron bracelet. Dylan directs his best media smile Connor’s way and says, “Wow Davo, this is really nice. Thanks buddy. I’m just gonna leave it in there for safekeeping.”

As far as Connor knows, Dylan doesn’t touch it again.)

 

**March 16, 2014 – Connor’s Billet House, End of Otter’s 2013-2014 Regular Season**

Connor is determined to tell Dylan the truth tonight, about what he can see and what Mitch is and the history between and why wearing iron is so important. He has one of his family’s journals, he’s expecting disbelief. He’s not expecting Dylan to walk in, flop onto his bed and jump straight into a monologue about Mitch Marner’s life. He’s especially not expecting to hear Dyls say, “And then he just looks at me and says ‘I’m a fairy’ - like no warning, nothing. Don’t people get like led into that sort of thing?”

“He told you he’s a fairy. Straight up told you just like that.” Connor stares at Dylan in disbelief. What the hell is Mitch’s game here. No fae just blurts things like that out.

Dylan raises an eyebrow, “Wow. Just wow Davo. I’ll have to start calling you McJudgyface instead of McJesus. But yeah, Mitchy told me about the whole gay thing.”

Connor tries not to twitch. (He fails. He hates how the fae twist the truth. He hates that the idea of Mitch being gay causes his heartbeat to increase.)

The eyebrow lifts higher. “Christ Davo. I was not expecting you to be a homophobe. Marns is a good dude, and one of my friends and neither of those things is changing anytime soon.”

Connor has no idea what to say. His silence is too much for Dyls who barks out a laugh so sharp it pierces Connor like he imagines lightening would –  searing through the conviction he’s held for the last year and leaving his best intentions flayed open in all their flawed glory.

Dylan turns away. Dylan walks away.

“Get over your shit Connor.”

The front door clicks closed. Even angry, Dyls is careful.

Goddamnit.

 

**2014 Playoffs - March 21 thru April 25**

Erie takes out Saginaw in five, sweep through Sault Ste. Marie in four, and are completely outclassed by Guelph. Connor wants to be bitter at the losses, wants to be bitter were knocked out by the same team that took out the Knights. But hockey isn’t everything, and he’s been losing Dylan’s friendship ever since January. Been losing Mitch since February. (Connor knows he never really had the second. He’s unequivocally certain both are his fault.)

 

**May 21, 2014 – Last Day of Memorial Cup Round Robin**

The Knights, as hosts of the Memorial Cup, got an automatic seed for the tournament. Meaning, they were still playing, even after being eliminated in the OHL playoffs. Dylan still isn’t really talking to him and Connor is bored, so he’s been watching them. Well, Connor’s been watching Mitch. Mitch with his soft hands and quick feet and quite frankly terrible puck protection through the neutral zone. Mitch with a glorious, beautiful assist. Mitch with that stupid glamour that keeps flickering in and out of focus. Mitch who stays on the ice looking as small and defeated as Connor feels.

 

Holy shit. Connor is an absolute idiot. He’s gone and fallen in love with a boy he’s said 8 sentences to. He’s gone and fallen for a fae.

For the first time, Connor uses the information from his ill advised internet stalking. It’s a single text sent to a number he’s had saved under “Asshole Fae” for the last four months.

To: Mitch Marner

_Hey, this is Connor McDavid. Sorry about your season. Can we meet up somewhere? I think we should talk._

 

(Nobody can say Connor doesn’t face his problems head on. At least not after he runs out of every other available choice.)

When his phone vibrates three hours later, Connor quietly freaks out for thirty minutes before opening his messages.

 

From: Mitch Marner

_Thanks._

From: Mitch Marner

_9pm Monday. Timmies on Woodbine in Gormley._


	3. Summer and the Sidhe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Connor figures out his shit and fixes it.

**May 26, 2014 – Tim Hortons (Woodbine Ave, Gormley)**

Connor shows up 30 minutes early sans iron. Well, sans iron bracelet, plus iron necklace hidden beneath his sweatshirt. Marner- Mitch. Mitch with no flickering indicative of a glamour is already there in a corner table fiddling with a drink sleeve, body hunched, back to the door, wrapped in a Knights hoodie and toque. An order of sour cream glazed Timbits and two hot chocolates - it may be spring, but comfort food is always acceptable, especially for potentially shitty conversations - in hand, Connor shuffles towards Mitch, stalling out a foot away.

“Erm, uh. Hi?”

Mitch drops the sleeve and whips his head around, eyes immediately zeroing in on Connor’s bare wrists. His skin is paler, eyes luminescent, jawline sharper. He’s gorgeous.

Connor gestures to the empty seat, “May I?” Mitch nods slowly, eyes tracking Connor as he deposits the drinks and donuts on the table before settling into the open chair.

They sit in silence for a few moments.

 

“Look, I owe you an apolo-”

“Why do you hate me so-”

Connor takes a breath and starts again, “Look, Marner. I owe you an apology. I’ve been a bit of an asshole to you this year and you as an individual didn’t deserve that. So, I’m sorry.”

“Oookay. So, like, you can call me Mitch. And apology sort of accepted. But I’ve got some questions- namely why?”

Shit. Connor’s really not ready to talk about any of this, so he skirts the truth. “I was jealous.”

Mitch relaxes a fraction, “Of what? Stromer and I?”

Connor blushes.

“Oh shit. Really? Like I mean, Stromer’s a good dude now that we’re not like enemies, but you gotta know you’re his best friend.”

Connor nods, “Yeah, I think I’m getting that. But he’s also your friend now, and I’d like to be that too. Your boy- your friend I mean.”

Mitch laughs uninhibitedly, an echo of bells chiming faintly through it. “Stromer warned me, but I didn’t believe him. God - are you always this,” Mitch gestures wildly at all of Connor, “this Good Canadian Boy stereotype?”

“Wait - don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. We’re going to be friends after all. Here, give me your phone, I’ll add you on Snapchat and Insta. Oooh. Does this mean we can trade Stromer is ridiculous stories now? ‘Cause I have never seen someone get as much sleep as him during a tournament and still look like a raccoon.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. He’s a bit, well, he’s Stromer,” Connor says like that explains everything. “Um, are you always so…” Connor waves at all of Mitch and ends with with jazz hands.

“Energetic? Decisive? Devilishly good looking?” Mitch winks.

 

Connor knows his cheeks are flushing.

 

**June 16, 2014 – Tim Hortons (Yonge St, Thornhill)**

They’ve been texting almost nonstop, both in a group chat with Dylan and on their own. Dyls was ecstatic when he’d heard Connor and Mitch were trying to become friends, so much so, that he ended up facetiming them both to cry and make them promise they’d meet up in person to “really get to know one another.” Mitchy still hasn’t stopped chirping Dyls about the tears or the promise.

However, Mitch still agreed to the meet ups. This time it’s Connor who shows up first for their monthly(ish) get-to-know-you Timmies run. Connor’s just sat down towards the back with their customary order of Timbits (old fashioned glazed this time) and cocoa when Mitch drags himself in fresh off a workout to collapse along Connor’s back with a pathetic whine. He jolts back immediately hissing in pain.

“Serves you right for getting shocked when you crush unsuspecting victims,” Connor says primly sipping his drink to hide the way his hands quiver. He can still feel Mitch’s weight pressing along his spine and shoulders.

Mitch frowns exaggeratedly at him as he plops into a chair stealing Connor’s cup and a Timbit, “Whatever! You know you loooove me.” He’s still rubbing at where his bicep touched Connor’s neck and for the first time since May, his glamour reappears.

Through the flashes, Connor spies a long, thin welt. Unconsciously, Connor’s hand raises to his throat and feels skin warmed iron beneath his t-shirt. Oh shit.

 

Connor spends the rest of the visit hoping he responds at the right points of Mitch’s stories and trying not to visibly panic. He’s going to have to tell him.

 

**June 30, 2014 – Ontario Science Center**

Connor is prepared. He has some family journals, he isn’t wearing iron, he’s calm, cool, and completely freaking the fuck out. Which basically means he’s been pacing back and forth mutter to himself near the entrance to the Science Center long enough for the security guard to actively be watching him.

So to absolutely no one’s surprise, Connor just about jumps out of his skin when a glamoured Mitchy swats his butt.

“Whoa Davo! A little tightly wound today, eh? I thought the Science Center was supposed to be fun. Or does your Canadian Hockey Robot programming not compute fun?” Mitch chuckles a bit, but his eyes are concerned. “If something’s stressing you out, we can always rain check.”

Connor shakes his head, “No. No. It’s fine. I’m fine. Uh, do you mind if we walk the park for a bit before we hit the Science Center?”

One of Mitch’s eyebrows goes up. “Sure thing Davo, lead on.”

 

It takes ten minutes of silence for Mitch to crack. “Ok Davo. Seriously what’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out and I will definitely call Stromer for backup if necessary.”

Mutely Connor shakes his head; he doesn’t what to say, what to even start with. Finally, he swings his backpack around and pulls out the oldest of the journals and hands it to Mitch. His entire body is trembling as Mitch opens it and begins to read, slowly at first then faster. Six pages in, Mitch closes the book quietly, “Huh. Didn’t take you for one of those ‘I believe in fairies! I do! I do’ people. Were you hoping I’d like join your cause or something?”

He hands the book back. He’s playing dumb and Connor is done. Connor is done with all of this uncertainty and hiding and all those bullshit rules. He shoves the book back inside his bag and pulls out one of his iron bracelets clenched tightly in his fist.

“Catch.”

Mitch moves to snatch it out of the air before jerking his hand back as if the fine iron chain were barbed wire. The bracelet clatters to the ground.

 

“Why are you showing me this?” His eyes are blue flames. There’s enough pressure in the air to cause Connor’s ears to pop. “McDavid - Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I can see you!” Connor blurts out in a rush. “Because I can see all of you.”

“You can see what McDavid. Because all I see is you acting like an idiot.”

“Goddamnit Mitch. Or whatever the hell your actual name is. I can see the burn marks from the iron ok. You have one across your left bicep from my necklace when you hugged me two weeks ago and fresh ones across your palm from that bracelet. You have pointed ears that can only be created with plastic surgery. You have no acne beneath this _stupid fucking glamour_ that you won’t drop!”

 

Connor’s panting. And Mitch looks...scared. Breathing deeply, Connor runs a hand through his hair. “Look. Can we just sit and talk. And can you please drop the magic spell or whatever.”

Mitch nods and walks towards a nearby bench. Seated, his glamour flickers out of existence. “How did you know?”

“I guess you could say it’s a family trait. It’s been in my family for generations. And like I said, I know because I can see you. All of you. That guy over there, the one walking along the far side of the pond, he’s about a foot taller than he appears to be and has green hair. Probably part of the Summer Court, the Seelie.”

Mitch starts to ask another question before Connor cuts him off handing him another book, “Look, just read, I dunno, the first 25 pages of this. It’s kinda like a primer, but written by my ancestors for their descendants who might inherit the ability to see the fae. It’ll most likely answer your questions and anything it doesn’t, I’ll try.”

 

They sit in, not awkward, but strained silence as Mitch reads. “Jesus dude,” He snorts, “I mean McJesus.” A snicker. “This is all outdated, like most of this “real name” and “stealing humans” bullshit has been outlawed since like the Renaissance or maybe like a century or two later. Definitely illegal since the late 1700’s. Now we just date people then marry them. And like, if we have to introduce them to the Sidhe court, it’s super easy. We just catch a flight to Dublin and drink some whiskey in the Brazen Head, or if you’re willing to drive head out to Athlone to Sean’s Bar instead. The Court will show up before your done with the first glass. Just about the only thing your book still has right is the iron... Wait. This why you kept giving Stromer iron! Seriously??? You thought I was going to steal Stromer. Stromer of all people. Goddamn Davo. Possessive much?”

Jerking his head down to avoid eye contact (don’t look away to sharply his instincts scream), Connor blushes. “Shut up. He’s my best friend.”

Mitch rolls his eyes, “Yeah, no, I got that. Now he’s my friend too, which has been great because he’s been party to my ridiculous pining over your hockey and your adorable fucking face…..oh shit. I, uh.”

Slowly lifting his head up from where he’s been scrutinizing scratches in the table, Connor musters the remains of his courage to squeak out, “I think your face is pretty too.”

“Soooo……boyfriends? That sounded a lot like boyfriends. Also, I’m going to make you a new book. One that’s been updated in the last five centuries. Oh hey - can I kiss you now?”

Connor can’t help but laugh until the sound is smothered when Mitch’s lips press against his. (Then he gasps.)

 

**August 11, 2014 - Ivan Hlinka Memorial Tournament @ Slovakia**

Mitchy is a trickster at heart, so when they decide to have the “my boyfriend’s a fae” conversation, it becomes a prank of sorts. Mitch and Dyls are rooming together for the tournament, which is honestly perfect for Mitchy’s plan. Connor is still in the GTA, so he Skypes Mitch when he texts that Dyls is heading for the shower. They goof around making faces at each other until Mitch gives the signal that the water has turned off, then Mitch starts moaning.

“Ohh baby, that’s it. Right there. Perfect, you’re perfect. God, I’m going to wreck you when I get back.“

Dyls flies out of the bathroom, dripping wet with a towel haphazardly wrapped around his waist, “What the fuck Marns?!! Don’t have sex when I’m literally in the room. And before you ask, yes the bathroom counts as the room. Now introduce me to your… Davo. What. The. Fuck.”

Mitch has rolled off the bed still howling with laughter, sputtering, “Stomer. Stomer. Your face, your fucking face man.”

“Surprise? Uh, Mitch and I are dating. Boyfriends. Faefriend and boyfriend? Boyfae and boyfriend?” Connor does jazz hands at Dylan through the screen.

 

He looks supremely unimpressed by their creativity, “Faefriend? Boyfae? What the hell are you talking about Connor?”

Mitch crawls onto the bed again fully, visibly fae - eyes glowing an unnatural blue, hair tinged more amethyst than brown, skin almost translucent, ears pointed. And still cackling, “It’s me! I’m the faefriend, the boyfae! Though I liked boy-fae-end better.

Dylan’s mouth hangs open, “What the fuck Marns??!! When you told me you were a fairy, I thought that was a euphemism or some shit. But no, you’re Mitch Marner and you’re a fairy that likes to go frolic in the woods and steal babies and like commune with the trees or whatever the fuck it is that fairies do.”

 

And Mitch is off again, wailing with laughter, pointing at Connor who’s sheepishly ducking his head.

Dylan narrows his eyes, “Exactly what else am I missing here Davo?”

Connor squirms, “Um. Well. You know those bracelets...”


End file.
